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The rest of the week was a blur of taking Aunt Martha to physical therapy, scrubbing the shop clean and sorting yarn, creating bins of fifty-percent-off odd skeins and discarding others that had faded or become hopelessly tangled.
Invariably, sometime during the day Daniel showed up. Once he came with a bucket and a squeegee on a pole to clean the front window, inside and out.
Another day he came with a container of chili Arnie had made that he wanted taste-tested for the chili cook-off at the Potato Festival. Daniel stayed long enough to climb up a ladder to clean the ancient light fixtures and replace burned-out bulbs.
Aunt Martha and Melinda devoured the chili for dinner that night.
Melinda wasn’t sure what Daniel was trying to accomplish. She hadn’t given him any cause to think she was interested in him. On the contrary, she was often sharp with him. The fact that she’d begun to look forward to his arrival didn’t mean a thing.
Or so she told herself.
She didn’t want a relationship with anyone, certainly not with someone like Daniel, a consummate flirt and ladies’ man.
A man who had always made her heart beat faster.
By the following Monday, Melinda declared she’d scrubbed, cleaned and sorted all she could. Now she needed new, fresh stock, which would enable her to hold a grand reopening next Saturday. Her dream was to someday add needlepoint to the inventory, but not yet. She had to get the yarn sales on a solid footing first.
She was on her cell phone, having placed an order for yarn and other supplies with a Denver wholesaler, when Daniel strolled into the shop. She acknowledged him with a quick lift of her hand, palm out, sending a message that she didn’t want to be interrupted.
“I’m sure Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions has had an account with you for many years,” she said into the phone. “I’ve seen the invoices.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that account has been inactive for a long time,” Jeff, the sales rep, replied.
“Well, then, let’s reactivate the account, shall we? We’re planning to reopen this Saturday and I need that merchandise. Please.” She used her sweetest, most persuasive voice to cajole the man on the other end of the line.
“To reactivate the account, I’ll need you to complete our credit forms and submit them. They’re online at our website. You can download them.”
Aware that Daniel was poking around the shop, flipping through pattern books, looking as relaxed as he would in a public library, Melinda gritted her teeth. “How long will it take to get them approved?”
“Two or three weeks is the usual time period.”
She groaned and dropped her head into her hand. “Let me explain again, Jeff. I want to reopen the shop this Saturday. That’s five days from now. I need the merchandise no later than Friday to stock the bins. I cannot wait two weeks for approval of credit.”
“It often takes three weeks, ma’am.”
Holding the phone away from her ear, and holding her temper in check, she looked up at the ceiling. She drew a steadying breath and brought the phone back to her ear.
“What do you suggest I do in the interim while you check our credit?”
“You could charge the merchandise to a personal credit card. We’d ship this afternoon and you’d have the delivery by Wednesday.”
“A personal credit card.” The words landed with a thud in her midsection. Since declaring bankruptcy, she’d been living on a cash basis. She didn’t want to run up any personal debt. The one credit card she possessed had a very low limit, which she’d almost exceeded buying the airline ticket to Bozeman and hadn’t paid that off yet. “I don’t have my card handy,” she hedged. “I’ll have to check with the shop owner.”
“I’d be happy to wait, ma’am.”
That wasn’t likely to help much. Aunt Martha seemed to be living on her Social Security, which was less than munificent. Assuming she had a credit card, Melinda doubted it had a high enough limit to cover the cost of the merchandise she’d ordered.
Daniel crossed the shop to the counter and handed her his credit card.
Gaping, she stared at the silver card embossed with Daniel’s name and O’Brien Ranch. She shook her head.
“Ma’am, are you still there?”
“Uh, hang on a minute, Jeff.” She covered the phone with her hand. “I can’t use your card, Daniel,” she whispered.
“Why not? You need the merchandise. When you get the shop open and doing business, you can pay me back.”
“I’m buying more than a thousand dollars’ worth of yarn and notions.”
He lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug. “That’s fine. Think of it as a loan.”
“I may not be able to pay you back right away.”
He touched her hair, twirling a finger through one of her curls. His lips curved ever so slightly with the hint of a smile. “We’ll work it out.”
Goose bumps sped down her spine and her knees went weak. She definitely shouldn’t let him do this. It wasn’t right for him to pay for what she couldn’t afford. But if she didn’t, how could she reopen the shop without a decent selection of yarn?
“Ma’am, did you want to call me back when you work something out?”
“No, I, uh…”
Daniel slipped the cell phone from her hand. “Hi, Jeff. I’m Daniel O’Brien, a friend of the shop owner. We’ll put the charges on my card. How does that sound?” He winked at Melinda.
While she stood staring at him dumbstruck, Daniel reeled off all the necessary information to charge his card over a thousand dollars.
When he finished, he handed the phone back to her. “You’re all set. Everything should arrive Wednesday and you’ll be ready for Saturday’s opening.”
“You shouldn’t have…” she stammered, her face flushing. “I mean, I shouldn’t have let you—”
“The proper response is, ‘Thank you, Daniel.’”
She closed her eyes to block out the intensity, the caring, she saw in his. Self-consciously, she fiddled with the same strand of hair that he’d twirled over his finger. “Thank you, Daniel.”
“Good girl. Now what have we got to do to get ready for Saturday?”
She stepped back, trying to think, trying to blot out the gratitude that was making her act stupid and jumbled her thoughts as completely as a kitten could unwind a ball of yarn. She didn’t deserve his kindness.
“I need to make up some flyers to post around town. A big sign for the shop’s window.” The gears in her brain that had stalled under Daniel’s determined assault began clicking again. “Place an ad in the newspaper. Get a reporter to cover the opening.”
“Sounds good. You get the flyers made and I’ll deliver them to the stores in town, get the owners to post them in their windows.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do. I need you to be a big success so I’ll get my money back.”
That sounded ever so logical except for one little problem: Melinda was pretty sure Daniel had a totally different agenda in mind.
Chapter Four
Freshly printed flyers and advertising copy in hand, Melinda headed on foot toward the office of the Potter Creek Courier, the town’s semiweekly newspaper.
Aunt Martha’s physical therapist had cut her back to one appointment per week, telling her she should keep up her daily exercises at home. Thoughtfully, a church friend of Martha’s had volunteered to take her to the therapist this morning.
On a Monday, Main Street was quiet. Two preadolescent boys went racing by on their bikes, whooping and hollering, their baseball caps worn backward on their heads. By afternoon, they’d probably join other youngsters at the municipal pool at the far end of town.
Most of the vehicles on the road were pickups, often with a bale of hay in the back. Older women seemed to have a preference for cars rather than trucks, their gray heads barely high enough to see over the steering wheels, their speed a few miles per hour slower than the youthful bicyclists.
Older teens and young adults who had jobs or chores to do gathered later, near sundown, at the picnic area at Riverside Park. They’d swim in the wide spot in the river, listen to music played on boom boxes or from car stereos, make out behind the bushes.
Melinda’s face warmed and her steps slowed at the memory of being with Daniel at the park. If she had known about DeeDee Pickens, she never would have gone to the park with him. Not even once.
She reached the building that housed the Courier, a one-story stucco structure with wooden siding that mimicked an old Western town. The headline on the most recent edition of the newspaper, which was posted in the front window, announced VFW Elects New Officers.
Hard to imagine any news more exciting than that in Potter Creek. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Finding excitement hadn’t been her goal by coming west.
Finding inner peace and starting over were closer to the truth.
The cowbell over the door clanked as she stepped inside and got a whiff of printer’s ink and old newsprint. A stack of newspapers sat at one end of a long counter along with racks of Potter Creek postcards and area maps. The two desks behind the counter were both piled high with papers that threatened to topple over with the least provocation.
A woman appeared from the back room. Probably in her early fifties, she wore a bright, friendly smile.
“Morning. What can I do for you, hon?” she asked.
Melinda introduced herself and placed one of her fuchsia flyers on the counter. “I’m Martha Raybin’s great-niece. I’m going to be reopening Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions, and I’d like to place an ad in the paper.”
“Oh, I’d heard Martha’s niece was in town helping her out. I’m Amy Thurgood, editor of the Courier.” She moved her glasses from the top of her head, where they’d been perched, and slipped them on to study the flyer. The banner on the flyer read Grand Reopening on a background that resembled a knitted scarf with needles and yarn bordering the pertinent information. “Martha’s a dear lady. Guess she had quite a fright with that stroke ’n’ all.”
“She seems to be recovering well.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. Is this the ad you want to run?”
“Yes, I brought you a CD. I thought that’d be easiest for you rather than scanning the master copy.” At the Pittsburgh knitting shop, one of Melinda’s jobs as manager was to create and place their advertising in the local paper. She’d spent most of Sunday afternoon designing this ad and the flyer.
“Perfect.”
“I was also hoping you might assign a reporter to cover our grand reopening.”
“A reporter?” Amy looked over the top of her glasses at Melinda, her hazel eyes sparkling with good humor. “Hon, around here I’m the editor in chief, sole reporter and general gofer girl. I do have a couple of stringers who cover high school sports and write the Ag column for me. But what you see is what you get, all-round newspaper woman with printer’s ink in her veins.”
Chuckling, Melinda warmed to this outgoing woman. Potter Creek might not compare in size to Pittsburgh, but it certainly topped the big city for friendliness.
As they talked, she discovered a three-column ad would cost less than a third of the price the Pittsburgh paper charged, although it would still make a dent in her minuscule checking account. Amy promised to run the ad in both Wednesday’s and Saturday’s editions. She also volunteered to post a flyer in her front window and agreed to drop into the shop during the opening.
Amy pushed her glasses back to the top of her head. “So, are you planning to stay here and run the shop for Martha?”
“That’s the plan.” Fingers crossed that she could turn a profit and keep both her and her aunt from the poorhouse.
“I’m glad to hear that, hon. Folks in Potter Creek are turning pretty gray these days. We can use more young people who’ll stick around and raise their families here.”
An ache bloomed in Melinda’s chest. “Aunt Martha is my only family.” Her voice caught. She’d lost everyone she had loved, and the most precious of all, dead virtually by her own hand.
Once outside, Melinda drew a deep breath to clear her head and shake off her memories. Memories that ripped open her splintered heart. Memories that had the power to drive her to her knees if she let them.
Forcefully, she straightened her shoulders. She had to keep busy, had to keep her demons safely locked away.
As long as she was out and about, she’d drop off flyers at some of the local businesses, meet the owners and ask them to post the flyers. No need to wait for Daniel to do it.
No need at all.
Because the Potter Creek Diner was immediately next door to the newspaper office, Melinda decided to start there. Not only did they have a large plate-glass window perfect for displaying posters, but they might also have a community bulletin board inside.
From across the street she heard the happy laugh of a child. Without thinking, she turned to see a boy about five years old skipping along holding his mother’s hand.
Pain as sharp as an arrow arched into her chest. Her breath lodged in her lungs. Her vision wavered.
No, not now! she silently pleaded. She had too much to do to have a panic attack. Focus on the flyers. Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions. Anything except her child who would never laugh and skip again.
She whirled and fled into the diner. She forced herself to take a deep breath and expel the pain that had constricted her chest. She forced herself to focus on these new, safe surroundings, not on the past.
The interior decor of the diner had a Western flavor. At eye level, the paneled walls were covered with black-and-white photos of rodeo events and old-time cowboys. Above those were the stuffed heads of a moose with giant antlers, a cougar with hungry yellow eyes, a snarling wolf and a sad-eyed buffalo.
Dragging her gaze away from the four sets of accusing eyes, she noticed that only two tables were occupied at this midmorning hour, both by middle-aged couples having a late breakfast. An original watercolor painting mounted in a rustic frame hung on the wall behind them. The painting depicted magnificent, snow-covered Rocky Mountains, yet the eye was drawn to the tiny abstract figure of a woman standing alone in a meadow. Despite the beauty all around her, the solitary woman appeared isolated and forlorn.
The aura of sadness in the painting touched Melinda’s heart as she realized that she could have been that unnamed figure.
Turning from the painting, Melinda approached a woman who sat at the end of the counter, sipping coffee from a mug and reading a paperback book. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the owner or manager of the diner.”
The woman lifted her head and swivelled around. Melinda’s eyes widened briefly as she recognized the flirtatious brunette she’d seen making a play for Daniel on the church basketball court.
“Pop isn’t here right now. What can I do for you?”
“I, um, I wanted to put up, um, one of these flyers in your window.” Melinda’s tongue had apparently developed a bad case of nerves, making her sound like a stammering fool.
The woman turned her book facedown to save her place and held out her hand. “Lemme see.”
Melinda passed her a flyer, noting the young woman had wide, nearly black eyes and wore a touch of eye shadow that enhanced their size. No older than twenty, the girl was way too young for Daniel.
“Knitting, huh? I never learned how to knit. Didn’t see much point.”
“I’m going to offer both beginning and advanced classes. The basics are really easy. You’d be surprised how quickly you could learn to make scarves and caps, even sweaters like this one.” She’d intentionally worn a light-weight, vest-style sweater in bright colors as a sample of what she’d be teaching to advanced students.
The woman glanced at the flyer again and shrugged. “Sure, you can put it up in the window. Don’t know that you’ll get many takers.”
“Hey, Ivy,” a man called from one of the tables. “You got any more coffee over there?”
“Sure, sure. Hang on a sec.” Ivy handed back the flyer. “Go ahead. Put it up if you want.”
Her lack of enthusiasm did nothing to bolster Melinda’s confidence. She opened her mouth to thank Ivy, but the young woman was already off her stool heading for the coffeepot simmering on the burner behind the counter.
